


some butterflies somewhere

by parcequelle



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Community: femslashex, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27387319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/pseuds/parcequelle
Summary: Seven had awaited this moment for months – years, if she were honest – and now that it had come, she felt herself at the top of a summit, overlooking a clear path down.
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway/Seven of Nine
Comments: 48
Kudos: 123
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2020





	some butterflies somewhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [occidorien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/occidorien/gifts).



> Happy Femslash Ex, occidorien! It was lovely to write for you!
> 
> (Title from "Would You Be So Kind" by dodie.)

Nine years and eleven days after Captain Janeway had liberated her from the Borg Collective and offered her a second chance at humanity, Seven sat at the heavy oak dining table in Admiral Janeway’s kitchen and thought about how to declare her romantic intentions. It wasn’t the first time in the last nine years and eleven days that she had had the thought – it wasn’t even the first time in the last week, or the last day – but it was the first time it had happened when she was sitting across from the woman she had called by name for five years, drinking the malty Irish tea she had so developed a taste for, on an otherwise unremarkable afternoon. 

Romantic intentions, Seven had discovered, were numbered things, they were cumulative, and there was a point after which it became impossible to ignore the significance of their number. Right now, sitting at this table, drinking this tea, Seven had reached that point. 

Kathryn was speaking to her, a delicate china cup half-raised to her lips, and she was waving her other hand in a bored, dismissive gesture. ‘But that’s more than enough of my departmental woes,’ she told Seven, leaning forward on her elbows, eyes bright. ‘I didn’t invite you here to moan about Starfleet; I want to hear about you. How was your date with the warp engineer?’

Seven’s mind supplied an image of said warp engineer, slim and red-haired and a little older than she was, and she frowned. ‘Unsuccessful,’ she said. She sipped her tea. ‘We lacked sufficient interests in common, she did not enjoy the Creole cuisine you recommended, and she was offended by the directness of my speech, though I meant no offence.’

Kathryn frowned back. Seven had long since grown accustomed to this reaction, though Kathryn’s perturbation at Seven’s lack of a “love life” caused no end of perturbation to Seven herself. Were she not always pleased to find herself in Kathryn’s company, regardless of the occasion or the topic of discussion, Seven might have come to dread these conversations. Kathryn’s continued interest in her personal endeavours was gratifying, but Seven had found, despite the several years she had lived primarily among humans, that she possessed a limited capacity for deception. Some weeks had passed since she had first recognised the reason that all her dates came to nothing: that none of the beings she had dated were Kathryn. Now that she was in possession of this vital piece of knowledge, she was fatigued and dissatisfied with the effort of not simply telling Kathryn the truth, as was her preference, and as she had always done before.

She wanted Kathryn. She had wanted her for years, and she wanted to tell her, and here, at the kitchen table on a Saturday afternoon, she was going to do just that. Before she could speak, however, Kathryn reached out and wrapped a small, long-fingered hand around Seven’s own, instantly warming the skin around her implant. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she murmured. ‘It sounds like she didn’t understand you.’

‘As was also the case with Maryya, Tronell, Dr Selar, and the Andorian ambassador’s wife.’ Seven raised an eyebrow, but did not remove her hand; she saw no reason to do so, and did not wish it.

‘Yes, well,’ Kathryn said, with a sympathetic expression, ‘these things take time, you know. Few find love with the first person they get to know.’

‘Platitudes have rarely altered my perceptions, Kathryn, and are unlikely to do so now. As well you know.’

‘Yes, yes, I’m sorry,’ Kathryn said, laughing, palms open, almost before Seven had finished the sentence. ‘Sometimes they just slip out.’

Seven smiled at her – the expression came more easily, these days, and came with more ease than ever when Kathryn was its recipient – and Kathryn smiled back, joyful and open in a way she had rarely been since her promotion to full admiral and her permanent assignment on-planet. ‘I wish to ask a question of a personal nature,’ Seven said. Their hands were still joined, and Kathryn squeezed Seven’s in hers, nodding her encouragement. ‘I have observed that you express frequent interest in the results of my endeavours to “date”, yet you remain unattached yourself. I am… curious as to why.’ 

Kathryn released her hand and sat back in her chair, arms folded over her chest, studying Seven with wry amusement. ‘I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you I hadn’t had any offers?’

‘I would not,’ Seven told her, ‘having borne witness to several of them since last Federation Day alone.’

‘Worth a try,’ Kathryn said, and then, under her breath, ‘I suppose now’s as good a time as any. Right,’ she said, and looked up, caught Seven’s eyes. ‘You know that I was engaged once, years ago, to a childhood friend.’

‘Mark Johnson,’ Seven said. She had met him on four separate occasions, and found him dull, disloyal, unstimulating, plain-faced, and no match for Kathryn Janeway on each. ‘He failed to trust that you would return with the crew of _Voyager_ to Earth, and instead married another in your absence.’

‘Well,’ she said drily, ‘I’m glad to see you’re not holding it against him.’ 

Seven arched an eyebrow. ‘I am merely stating the facts as I see them.’

‘I don’t blame him, Seven. You shouldn’t either.’ Her voice was soft with the forgiveness and resignation that Seven knew came only with time. She longed to reach out, to touch her again, but the expanse of the table still lay between them. ‘It was a good thing he remarried. Of course, I was heartbroken at the time, but… it was a good thing. The right thing. I wouldn’t have made him happy, in the end.’

Boldness stole into Seven’s heart, and she sat up straighter, said carefully, deliberately, ‘If I may say so, Kathryn, I believe he would also not have made you happy.’

Kathryn blinked. ‘Oh?’

‘Mark Johnson is a… kind man,’ Seven said, her tongue shifting clumsily around the words. ‘But he is simple, and appears to value simplicity in turn. I have noted his disinterest in the discussion of Starfleet, Federation, and wider quadrant politics, topics that occupy your mind a great deal. He does not read for pleasure, as you do, and fails to appreciate either the ancient Earth literature or the theoretical papers that you so enjoy. He disdains the holodeck, and prefers the antiquated sport of “golf” as a hobby. He demonstrates no comprehension of warp theory or deep compact halo objects. He—’

‘—all right, all right,’ Kathryn said, laughing, as she drank the rest of her coffee and set the cup down, ‘I get the picture. I acknowledge that he wasn’t, perhaps, the ideal match for me, but I was… well, I was younger then. I wanted someone stable. Someone safe. Someone I knew would always be there when I came home.’

Slowly, Seven nodded. ‘You desired a partnership that existed outside of Starfleet. You did not wish to live with the fear of losing a fellow officer, as you did your father.’

‘Right.’

Seven swallowed down on the sudden rush on nerves in her stomach and asked, ‘And now? Has your perspective changed since your time in the Delta Quadrant?’

Kathryn watched her, assessing, and then she said, ‘It has. Though not in the way you might think. More than anything, I used to fear losing my loved ones – I had lost my father when I was younger, and suffered greatly. I lost Mark. I lost my dog. I lost contact to Starfleet, and I lost the certainty that I’d ever see my home planet again. But do you know what I learnt, through all that loss?’

Seven shook her head. Her fingers were gripping the table, anticipation burning.

‘I learnt not to settle for less. Many in my position would say they had learnt not to waste time, that it’s worth taking chances and risks, and I did learn those things. But I also learnt that I don’t want to settle for a safety net ever again. Not if there’s something out there I want more.’ She swallowed, as though the words had been difficult for her to say; Seven wondered why, and hoped beyond hope that she knew. ‘Mark wasn’t right for me, but he was – is – a good man, and I’m grateful I still have him in my life.’

‘As am I,’ Seven said, her own voice scratchy with sincerity, and with nerves. ‘It is important, I believe, for you to… retain those interpersonal connections that existed before your life aboard _Voyager_. I have observed that many of the former crew take great comfort in their remaining connections to family and friends, as do I, to my aunt Irene. It would… not please me, were you to lose them.’

Kathryn studied her for a long time, so long that Seven began to grow self-conscious, to fear that she had made yet another unintended social blunder. ‘Have I caused you offence?’ she asked softly. ‘It was not my intention.’

‘On the contrary,’ Kathryn told her. She leaned forward again, smiling the lopsided smile that Seven so cherished. ‘I was just thinking that you’re also a very good person, Seven, and I’m grateful to have you in my life as well.’

‘As I am to have you,’ Seven said. Inexperienced as she was in matters of conversational nuance, even she knew that a more suitable opening was unlikely to appear. ‘I do not know what my life would be like without you,’ she began, and then shook her head when Kathryn opened her mouth. ‘In this case, I am not referring to your liberating me from the Collective, but to your… friendship. Your care. You have… supported me, and encouraged me, and assisted me with my assimilation to life on Earth. You have trusted me to share your home and your work. I am… most grateful. I…’ Seven stopped, frustrated, and pursed her lips.

‘Seven?’ Kathryn prompted. Her eyes were clear, and the dark civilian sweater she wore made them appear blue, rather than grey.

‘It is my wish to be honest, but I find myself… unable to adequately express the sentiments I feel. It is… most frustrating.’ 

‘I know the feeling,’ Kathryn murmured. ‘Take your time. There’s no rush.’

‘I disagree,’ Seven said abruptly, the words out of her mouth before she had consciously decided to say them. Kathryn blinked at her in surprise. ‘I must speak.’

Kathryn inclined her head, indulgent. ‘Then by all means, speak.’

‘I am grateful to you,’ Seven said, ‘and I am… happy that you have continued to include me in your life since _Voyager_ ’s return—’

‘—so you’ve said—’

‘—but gratitude is not the core of what I feel.’ She paused, and she noticed, for the first time, that Kathryn had grown very, very still. That she was holding her breath. ‘The core of what I feel is affection,’ she continued. Kathryn was still tense, and Seven’s heart surged with hope, brighter than she’d ever felt, when Kathryn’s eyes flicked down to watch her throat as it moved. Seven reached out her hand – one of few times she had ever initiated such contact, a deliberate choice – and held her own breath until Kathryn took it and laced their fingers together, cool metal on warm skin.

‘In the interest of clarity,’ she said, ‘I am not speaking of platonic affection, maternal affection, sisterly affection, collegial camaraderie, or the affection that might naturally flourish between mentor and student.’

Kathryn squeezed her hand, tightening her fingers around Seven’s own, and said, ‘That doesn’t leave many interpretations left over, you know.’ She licked her lips, her eyes flicking down to Seven’s. ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, it sounds like you’re confessing to having romantic feelings for me. Tell me: is my hypothesis correct?’

Seven had awaited this moment for months – years, if she were honest – and now that it had come, she felt herself at the top of a summit, overlooking a clear path down. She said, ‘Yes.’ It was the easiest word to say.

Kathryn did not speak right away. She kept Seven’s hand in her own, their fingers still linked, and she watched her with a loose, open, satisfied expression that made Seven’s insides knot into themselves with desire. And then, slowly, she stood, and she sidled around the table until she was resting against it, directly in front of Seven. Seven gazed up at her, simultaneously fearful and hopeful that her adoration showed on her face.

‘Stand up,’ Kathryn murmured. Seven did, and the action brought her as close to Kathryn Janeway as she had ever been, so close that her heartbeat quickened and her lungs contracted with the effort of breathing. Their eyes were locked. ‘I don’t want to assume anything,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me, Seven. Ever. Do you know that?’

‘I do,’ Seven said. Her own voice was softer and deeper than she knew it to be; Kathryn’s proximity had lowered its register, had sent all her blood and her thoughts and now her voice heading south. ‘You have never failed to make it clear that you prioritise my wellbeing.’

‘Good,’ Kathryn said. ‘Then you’ll know, when I say this, that I don’t say it to pressure you, or to presume something that may cause you discomfort.’

Seven nodded.

‘You have romantic feelings for me, you said.’

‘I do.’

‘You desire a… physical manifestation of these feelings?’ Kathryn’s pupils had dilated in response to Seven’s proximity. Her skin was flushed. Her body was arching, subtly but undeniably, toward Seven’s own. Seven took a chance and stepped even closer, until her legs were brushing Kathryn’s and their lips were a breath apart.

‘Very much,’ Seven told her. ‘I do not wish for you to mistake my… caution in this matter for disinterest.’

‘I’m very glad to hear that,’ Kathryn said, her voice husky and inviting, edged in laughter. Seven did not often dream, but when she did, it was of this voice, speaking to her in this way. ‘Now seems like a good time to tell you that I return your romantic feelings, and that I am also very eager to express those feelings in a physical manner.’ Kathryn raised a hand, and slowly, gently, stroked her fingers down Seven’s cheek. She brushed a warm thumb to Seven’s bottom lip and then lower, over her chin, down her neck. ‘Right now, if you’re amenable.’

Seven smirked, swaying closer. ‘I am amenable,’ she said; it came out like a whisper, a secret shared in the space between breaths.

‘Then kiss me,’ Kathryn said, ‘before I—’

Seven complied. 

It appeared that she could number herself among the lucky few: she had, after all, found love with the first person she got to know.


End file.
